


Conversations with Mara

by spirantization



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Buddhism, Buddhist Character, Demons, Discussion of Death, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, Historical Figures, Philosophy, Post-Season/Series 04, Pre-Canon, Rebirth, Religious Discussion, Theology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 08:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21335119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirantization/pseuds/spirantization
Summary: 2,500 years before Lucifer went on vacation to LA, he visited the Buddha on the eve of his enlightenment.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 12
Kudos: 99





	Conversations with Mara

**Author's Note:**

> This work deals with Buddhist philosophy. It is not necessary to have prior knowledge of Buddhism; I hope I have incorporated the ideas into the text in such a way that this is not needed. There is a more detailed explanation in the notes at the end of the work for anyone interested.
> 
> You can come say hello at spirantization.tumblr.com. Enjoy!

“Is this what I think it is?”

Lucifer looked up at the incredulity in Chloe’s voice. She was standing in front of one of his bookshelves, peering at something there.

“You’ll have to be more specific, darling,” he said. “I have many possessions and I don’t know which one you’re pointing at.”

“You have a Buddha statue,” she said. She was holding her hand in front of her mouth and it made her voice muffled.

“Oh, that,” he said. He turned back to his book and stared at the top of the page without taking anything in. “Yes, it was a gift. I thought he was rather insufferably condescending, but many people have found him compelling enough to cut off all their hair and stop having sex. Completely tragic and misguided, if you ask me.” He flipped the page.

Chloe walked over and climbed onto the couch next to him, her feet tucked up under her legs. “You met the Buddha?” Her voice had that awed quality that cropped every now and then whenever she was met with the full brunt of his long life. He liked it best when she was praising his prowess in bed, not when she was talking about another man.

“No. I met a man named Siddhartha who refused to move from under a tree for forty-nine days,” he replied.

She hummed. “Was he really, you know, enlightened?” 

The question wasn’t as interesting as the way the shirt she was wearing — one of _his_ shirts — rode up high on her thigh. Was she wearing any underwear? He didn’t think she was, the naughty minx. He tossed his book to the side — it was dull anyway — and rested his hand against her knee, slowly moving it upwards —

She slapped his hand away and he made a mental note to remind her that he liked being slapped far more in other areas. “Hey! Come on, I’m curious. Wasn’t he a prince who gave up all his worldly possessions?”

The sudden interest in a human who’d been dead for twenty-five hundred years, give or take — and one who hadn’t even ended up in Hell and was therefore _definitely_ outside of Lucifer’s wheelhouse — was peculiar. He tapped his fingers, so recently smarting with rejection, against his leg. “He was. How do you know so much about Buddhism, anyway?”

“Trixie’s doing a world religions project on it. I suggested Buddhism because I _thought_ there wouldn’t be any associations with it. The last thing I need is her teacher calling me up because she delivered a creative interpretation of Christianity. So come on. Enlightened or not enlightened?”

Lucifer scoffed. What did it matter which religion the little urchin did a presentation on? All religions were a little bit right and a little bit wrong about the true nature of the universe in their own unique and interesting ways. He wouldn’t make a fuss. Mostly. Only slightly. Very minimal, really. Almost entirely negligible. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “Enlightened, not enlightened, a great teacher, a fraud — who can say? I only met him the once. It was very hot and he was very boring.”

“I don’t know — I think some of it’s really nice,” said Chloe. “It seems like he taught about how to help other people, which seems like a good thing to me.”

“There’s a lot of rubbish tied up in that,” Lucifer grumbled.

Chloe tilted her head. “Wasn’t he tormented by demons?” She narrowed her eyes. “Lucifer, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t _torment_ him,” he protested. She raised her eyebrows. “I may have _tempted_ him a little,” he amended. “But that’s not the same thing. I hardly did anything. You know how these things get blown out of proportion. You should see the way these scriptures carry on and on about it. For someone who claimed to have conquered all negative emotions, he certainly had a flare for the dramatic.”

She propped her head in her hand and smiled at him. He sat up a little straighter, a pleasant warmth bursting in his chest. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, but it sounded fond. “If he was so boring, why do you keep a statue of him on your bookshelf?”

He shrugged. Why keep any of it? He’d collected a lot of things over the years, mostly gifts and mementoes from his various excursions to Earth. He’d become so sentimental.“As a reminder, I suppose, of our conversation. The statue is recent.” Well, relatively speaking, anyway. He wasn’t altogether sure it hadn’t been a joke, but it had appeared genuine at the time.

Chloe flopped onto her back, stretching her legs out across his lap. Her bare feet brushed up against his arm. He couldn’t complain, particularly not when he was treated to an intimate view of her long legs. He traced a line along the back of one of her calves and up to her knee. She twitched and kicked out reflexively, then nudged him in the stomach with her foot.

“So what was India like thousands of years ago?” she asked.

He sighed and resigned himself to a trip down memory lane. He settled deeper into the couch.

“It wasn’t called India back then; it was just a bunch of smaller kingdoms. I left Hell one day without any particular destination in mind and ended up in the kingdom of one of Siddhartha’s patrons.”

* * *

** 2,500 YEARS AGO (GIVE OR TAKE) **

Lucifer wondered for a moment whether he had actually left Hell; there was no immediate change in temperature. But then the Earth burst into life around him: the trills of birds, the drops of water falling from leaves after the summer rain, and the scent of flowers. He took a deep breath, enjoying the clean air and bright sunshine, thankfully free of sulphur and ash, before starting off in the direction of a large stone building in the distance.

It only took a few short, luxurious days for him to decide that the Kingdom of Magadha was a wonderful place to spend his vacation. To be fair, everything compared to Hell was the height of luxury, but even by Earth’s standards it was marvellous to lounge in cool stone palaces and be treated like a king. He shared this observation with his host.

“We have a saying here,” King Bimbisara said, relaxing back against his cushions. “Athithi devo bhava — be one for whom the guest is God.”

“Well, I’m hardly God,” said Lucifer. “You know how sons don’t like to be compared to their fathers.”

“It is us who are honoured by your great presence, if you are the son of one of the gods. You are most welcome, my friend,” King Bimbisara said, sitting up straight and bowing deeply. “But you must tell me. What brings you to our fair kingdom?”

Lucifer selected another mango. “Simple pleasures, Your Majesty,” he said. “What is life but something to be enjoyed? You have fine fruits, fine wines, and fine women. I find myself wanting for nothing.”

King Bimbisara laughed. “You are of a different sort,” he said. “Most of the travelling wise-men we meet practice strict asceticism. It does no good to offer them wine, for they subsist on nothing but a single grain of rice each day.”

Lucifer had little interest in asceticism; anyone who denied themselves basic amenities, let alone luxuries, he held in contempt. How could humans surround themselves with the bounty of the Earth, with its various pleasures, and hold themselves back? Humans had such short little lifespans — barely fifty years — and yet there were some who insisted on severely denying themselves even the food that was necessary for life. And for what? It was a bizarre and pointless human practice.

“I imagine they don’t last very long,” he said. “And I doubt that they are very wise, to deny themselves the pleasures of life so harshly.” He bit into the mango, letting the juice drip down into his hand.

“No, no, they have great wisdom,” King Bimbisara insisted. Lucifer couldn’t help but scoff. “They are very devout practitioners. There is one man who seeks to understand the nature of suffering. He was once an ascetic, but gave it up to follow a life not of asceticism or of luxury, but a middle way.”

“Ah! See?” Lucifer said triumphantly, lounging even further into his bed of cushions. “Even its followers realize it’s a ludicrous practice.”

King Bimbisara bowed to him from his cushion, conceding the point with a grin and a flourish of his hands. “Perhaps this man would agree with you,” he said. “He no longer denies himself so severely. However, he has been deep in meditation for many weeks. He hasn’t risen from his seat in all this time.”

“You’ve checked to make sure he hasn’t died, yes?” said Lucifer, sucking the juice from his fingers. It wouldn’t surprise him, particularly not if this man were accustomed to starving himself. Maybe he had wandered out into the wilderness to die like some sick dog. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell with these meditating types. They look to be deep in contemplation when really they’ve just keeled over dead.”

King Bimbisara was unfazed, brushing aside his suggestion with an imperial wave of his hand. “Ah, but who are we as men if we do not understand ourselves and our true nature? We spend so much time focused on worldly concerns that we forget to analyze what lies within.”

Analyze what lay within? This was one of the tragic flaws of humans: since they were given no purpose and had to create one for themselves, they tended to come up with the most outlandish use of their time. Of course humans should focus on worldly concerns; it was their world and they lived in it. How boring the world would be if everyone sat around and meditated all day. Lucifer would have to consider vacationing on another inhabited planet, which would be less than ideal considering none of the other ones had invented alcohol yet.

“I enjoy the concerns of the world,” Lucifer told the king. “If I wanted to stare at nothing all day, I would return myself to Hell.” He picked up his wine, tried a sip, and hummed in pleasure. “Besides, I understand the nature of suffering just fine. One might even say I’m an expert.”

“You might have much to say to each other, perhaps,” King Bimbisara said, smiling and taking a sip of his own wine as well. “You should seek him out. He stays under a tree near the river Naranjana. It is not too far from here.”

Lucifer swirled the wine around in his glass. A human sought to understand suffering? Who better to enlighten him than the King of Hell? And then he could see how his paltry experience with minor inconveniences paled in comparison to the reality of true suffering. “Why not,” he said. “It might be amusing.” He drained his glass.

King Bimbisara nodded and set down his wine. “It will be an auspicious meeting,” he said, clapping his hands together decisively. “The one whom you seek is called Siddhartha Gautama.”

* * *

As it turned out, the Naranjana was a long river and there were a lot of trees to be found along its shores, but with the help of a few local gossips — and perhaps some detours here and there to indulge in some earthly pleasures — it wasn’t long before Lucifer reached the tree in question and the man sequestered underneath.

He was — well, fairly attractive, Lucifer concluded. Certainly not hideous enough to send women screaming from him, so who knew why he’d settled into this life of abstinence and perpetual self-denial. He wasn’t terribly thin in that emaciated way so many of the ascetics were. He wasn’t bald either; his hair was a deep black and formed tight curls against his head. His skin was a pleasant golden colour, looking vibrant even against his ratty yellow robe. He gazed out serenely at the world.

“Well,” said Lucifer, looking around. “I suppose there are worse places to spend seven weeks.” The tree was not exceptionally large, but its leaves were lush and rustled pleasantly in the breeze. They formed a shaded canopy under which Siddhartha sat.

Lucifer stood in front of him, but the man did not stir or speak or make any motion to acknowledge him.

Lucifer nudged him with his foot.

Nothing.

He nudged him again, harder.

Still nothing.

He stepped back and cast around from something suitable. He picked up a fist-sized rock and aimed for the tree beside Siddhartha’s head.

It thumped against the trunk, and a rain of leaves fell upon him, but otherwise, nothing. No flinching, not even the blink of an eye.

Perhaps Siddhartha wasn’t quite all there — there were illnesses humans could contract that were of the mind, not the body, that affected them in rather intriguing ways. It could be that this Siddhartha was afflicted in some manner. King Bimbisara had spoken about Siddhartha’s wisdom, but it would hardly be the first time that humans had been fooled by someone charismatic if rather unhinged.

But there was one thing that all humans succumbed to: fear. And who better than the Devil, who inflicted fear upon so many tortured souls, to inspire a little more on Earth?

He brought forth his face — his other face, his _true_ face — and peered into Siddhartha’s.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of fear or hesitation.

Was this thing on? He reached up a hand to check, and yes, things appeared to be in working order. Maybe Siddhartha was so deep in meditation that he had lost all of his senses. Maybe he was blind. That was probably it. Everyone — _everyone_ — recoiled from his true face in fear. Some man sitting on the ground under a tree wasn’t going to be the exception. He leaned in even closer.

“Why do this, Siddhartha?” Lucifer said. “Why are you sitting under a tree? You are a prince. Is there not anything more important for you to do than sit under a tree all day? You have the power to lead your people and give them better lives. Get up from this absurd form of self-deprivation at once.” He stood up straight and dusted himself off.

Siddhartha blinked once, slowly, then spoke carefully. “I seek true awakening for all beings — not just those humans who live in the kingdom of my birth, but for the benefit of all sentient beings in all realms.”

Lucifer couldn’t help but laugh. “How is sitting under a tree and doing nothing supposed to help souls being tortured in Hell or souls being bored to a second death in Heaven?” he asked. “I fail to see the relevance. Isn’t the point of all this to live a virtuous life? You might start by actually living it.”

Siddhartha listened carefully, and waited a moment before speaking. “Oh, Mara. What do you know of virtue?”

“You know me?” Lucifer tilted his head. Mara was a name just like the others that humans had chosen to adorn him with: it was incorrect, but the meaning and association were clear. At last he let the hellfire fade from his eyes. “How interesting.”

“You are Mara,” said Siddhartha. “Lord of Desire, Ruler of Hell, Master of demons.”

“Correct,” said Lucifer. How interesting that this mere man perceived his true nature but did not run from it as others did when faced with the truth. “And as the Lord of Desire, I have heard of all possible desires, and I know everyone has one, buried deep down in their fragile little hearts. So tell me: what is it you desire?”

“I seek only to understand the nature of suffering,” said Siddhartha without hesitation. He spoke easily, but there was no telltale pull that indicated he had fallen under Lucifer’s thrall. Perhaps he was so simple it had taken no effort to pull the truth from him. “If there is suffering, there must also be a cause of suffering. If there is a cause of suffering, there must also be freedom from suffering.”

Lucifer sighed but sat down across from him all the same. The ground was nice and springy, and thankfully not wet. There was a small patch of dirt between him and Siddhartha that he carefully avoided. He settled into a cross-legged seat that mirrored Siddhartha’s own and considered his words.

Of course there was a cause of suffering — his own Father. Every bad thing in Lucifer’s life could be directly attributed to him. If this universe contained even a drop of pain, misery, or hurt, it was because God thought it was necessary and deliberately put it there. Humans liked to blame the Devil for the evil in the world, but he’d hardly created Hell, had he? He might inflict pain and misery on others, but the true architect was all dear old Dad.

“There’s suffering because suffering is inherent to the universe,” he told Siddhartha. “You are created and ruled by a capricious God who delights in inflicting torment on others. And I should know, considering I’m His favourite subject of torture.”

Siddhartha nodded. “The gods are not exempt from suffering,” he said quietly. “You, your father — you are also caught in this endless cycle of death and rebirth. You have not yet achieved liberation from it. Your father is subject to the same suffering as his creations.”

It would serve God right if He were trapped in the same Hell He had put Lucifer through — had put His own _wife_ through — but He wasn’t. He wasn’t bound to the same rules as His creations.

“There is no cycle of death and rebirth,” said Lucifer. “My parents created the universe and all the humans in it. You will die, and when you die, you will go to Heaven or Hell. That’s it. There’s no rebirth. Us celestial beings will exist forever — well, at least until the universe collapses in on itself, which shouldn’t be for another few years yet.”

“So you admit,” said Siddhartha, “that your own death is inevitable.”

“It’s — I mean, I don’t have to die,” said Lucifer. “I suppose I could find another universe to hop into. There are enough beings in this universe that have come from the outside, you know. I suppose emptiness gets rather dull after a while. But none of that applies to my parents — They existed long before They created this universe, and They’ll just continue on existing long after it’s gone. Forever, basically.”

Siddhartha nodded as if he’d made an excellent point, which he _had_, thanks very much. “Your parents created the universe?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“And who created them?”

Lucifer scowled. This was the problem with talking to people who spent too much time in their own heads: they couldn’t be reasoned out of anything, even when they were patently wrong. “They weren’t _created_, They just _are_. And They can’t die.”

“But there was a beginning to their existence. All existence has a beginning and an end. They were born, just as I was, and they will die, just as I will.”

“I’ve never heard someone so profoundly wrong in my life,” said Lucifer.

Siddhartha leaned forward and drew his finger through the dirt between them, forming a circle. “These gods, your parents — they may have incredibly long lives, many aeons more than we can imagine,” he said. “But they were once newly born, as all things are. In the end they will succumb to death, just like all other living beings.” He moved his finger along the circle on the ground. “Death, and then rebirth. It is the same fate that awaits us humans.”

“Humans only die once,” Lucifer pointed out. He ignored the pointless tirade against his parents; They might be truly horrible, but They weren’t about to die. Instead, he drew a line in the ground beside Siddhartha’s circle. “See? Human life is just a line. Beginning and end. You get one chance on Earth, and then it’s off to Heaven or Hell. Certainly no one has ever left Hell to come back to Earth as an octopus or something.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Siddhartha murmured. “Their stay in the hell realms will last longer than even you understand — countless aeons as one of your subjects of torment. But eventually their misdeeds will be spent, and they will die again in that form so that they might be reborn in another.”

“Please."

“Consider, Mara,” said Siddhartha. “Analyze the truth for yourself.”

Lucifer sighed but considered the idea for a moment — purely as a thought experiment, of course. This man was laughably wrong. 

Could it be possible for souls in Hell to exhaust their guilt and leave of their own volition? It was technically possible; no soul was trapped so completely that they couldn’t break themselves free if they truly wished to. There were no locks on the doors and Lucifer and his demons came and went from the cells all the time. The doors were obvious, but the souls never seemed to see them. Might they, one day, free themselves?

But no, their torment was eternal. That was the deal: live a bad life on earth and pay the price forever in Hell. People didn’t miraculously rid themselves of their sins and their guilt after a few loops of torture. If any of his subjects were capable of evolving beyond their guilt, he had yet to see it. It may happen eventually, as Siddhartha had said, but — no.

“You see there is a possibility,” murmured Siddhartha. “You see there is death for all your subjects.”

Lucifer straightened his shoulders and focused his attention back on Siddhartha.

“Well, you’re a cheerful fellow,” said Lucifer. “Have you never been to a proper party? Really, I can hardly imagine why you’ve been sitting here all alone for seven weeks with no one to talk to, going on and on about death like this.”

“Death, yes, but also rebirth,” Siddhartha repeated. “For all beings in the hell realms. For all beings in the heaven realms. For your parents, for your brothers and sisters. Even for you. Perhaps you will be reborn as a god. Perhaps you will be reborn as a tiny butterfly.”

This was pointless. He was clearly only interested in talking about his absurd theory about death, death, and more death. When he died and Azrael was sent to collect he soul, he might have an audience that was actually interested in the topic. Of course, he might be inconsolable when his ridiculous little theory was proven wrong and spend the rest of eternity moping.

It was time for another approach. Lucifer had met his type before — fanatical about their beliefs and absolutely sure that they were the only ones with the correct answer. It was a waste of time to debate him on the mechanics of his delusion; he had to beat him at his own game.

“So what’s the point?” Lucifer said. “We all suffer and die in an endless circle of misery. Wonderful. If what you claim is true, you may as well enjoy the ride while you can. Have some fun. Go a bit wild. Wine, women, and song, that’s what I always say. A little bit of the three might cheer you up immensely.”

“There is an escape from this endless cycle,” said Siddhartha. “As I said: if there is suffering, there is a cause of suffering. If there is a cause of suffering, there is freedom from it.”

Lucifer was immortal — and he _was_, thanks very much — but he might just die of old age before Siddhartha got around to the point.

“Alright, go on then,” Lucifer sighed, rolling his eyes. “What is the cause of suffering?”

“There are three.” Siddhartha drew the number _one_ in the ground. “The first is ignorance.”

“Oh, this is going to take forever.”

“You, Mara, are ignorant of the workings of the universe,” Siddhartha said. “You do not know the origin of your parents. You do not understand your own origins, or your ultimate fate. You do not accept your place on the wheel of life and death. You do not understand your own function in the world as the ruler of the hell realms. This ignorance causes you great suffering.”

“Well that may be,” Lucifer conceded haughtily. Of course he didn’t know all of that — he hadn’t created the universe, had he? That had been Someone else’s work. “Although if I don’t know any of that, it’s because dear old Dad didn’t bother to tell any of His children about the details of his creations. He’s the one to blame for all the ignorance in the world.”

“That brings us to the second cause of suffering,” said Siddhartha. He drew the number _two_ in the ground before him. “Anger.”

Finally, something he could relate to. Anger was an emotion he was well acquainted with. “You’re damn right I’m angry,” said Lucifer. “But it hardly causes _me_ to suffer. I generally find it results in a lot of suffering in _others_.”

“Does it?” said Siddhartha, leaning back to gaze at him. “You are angry with your father. You protest and shake your fists in the air. Does this harm him?”

“I like to think it makes Him take a good hard look at Himself,” Lucifer said. Of course the bloody bastard wasn’t _harmed_, because He was God and nothing actually harmed Him. “It certainly makes me feel better.”

Siddhartha shook his head, folding his hands back into his lap. “He is unaffected. The only person who is harmed by your anger towards him is you. It disturbs you, causes you inner turmoil, and hurts you.”

“My anger doesn’t hurt me,” said Lucifer. He felt his eyes change, flashing red once more. “It _fuels_ me. It makes me succeed in getting what I want.” He let the fire fade.

Siddhartha was once again unaffected by his display. It was unsettling. It wasn’t _natural_. Maybe he truly was blind, and just very adept at looking people in the eye to make it seem like he wasn’t. 

He leaned forward once more and drew the number _three_ in the dirt. “That is the third cause of suffering,” he said. “Desire.”

Lucifer laughed. “Preposterous,” he said. “Desire doesn’t cause suffering. It’s the _opposite_ of suffering. I should know. I am the Lord of Desire, after all.” He gave a mocking bow from his seat. If anything could convince him that Prince Siddhartha was full of nonsense, it was this. Fulfilling people’s desires made them happy. What could be better than people getting what they truly wanted? The idea that these things caused them pain was plainly absurd. 

“Desire is temporary,” Siddhartha explained. “We desire things — delicious food, fine wine, beautiful women. We crave these things and become sad and hurt if we do not get them. When we acquire them, we find they do not bring us any meaningful joy.”

“So your entire argument is that wanting things makes us unhappy?” Lucifer asked incredulously. “I’ve never heard such drivel in all my time. Which, I’ll remind you, is just slightly less than the age of the universe.”

“Our desires change, and the objects of our desires change,” Siddhartha said. “We find that the delicious food rots in the sun, our fine wine clouds our mind and makes us upset, and the beautiful women grow old and their beauty fades. And then we do not want these things any longer, and we acquire a new desire. So we are never satisfied, always moving from desire to desire and never achieving true happiness.”

“Who cares if it’s temporary?” Lucifer said. “That’s part of the joy of living. It may be gone tomorrow, so live in the moment.”

Siddhartha nodded his head in concession. “I agree it is necessary to focus on the present moment,” he said. “I enjoy this tree and the song of the birds, the cool water from the river. But I am not attached to these things. I do not wish to capture the birds so that they may sing for me everywhere on my travels. Pursuing these desires would cause great suffering for me and for these birds that have been my companions these last months.” He looked up at the birds on the branch above him and smiled.

“So you admit you have desires,” Lucifer said. “Not just a passionless shell, are you, Siddhartha?” If there was an opening, even the slightest crack, he would find it and exploit it. Siddhartha’s desire may be hidden, deeply tucked away after years of practice, but it was there, somewhere, and Lucifer would find it.

“I desire nothing you can give me,” said Siddhartha.

Ah. It was like that then.

“Very well.” Lucifer rose from his seat, straightened to his full height, and stepped out from under the canopy of the bodhi tree. Siddhartha remained where he was, regarding him impassively. “If you will not be swayed by me, perhaps it is that you crave the attention of a more gentle figure?”

It was always a danger to bring demons to the earthly plane, but Siddhartha Gautama’s demeanour made him want to shake it out of him. It was pompous and insufferable. He was so — so _convinced_ of his own delusions. Lucifer wanted to pick him up and rattle him until this delusion fell out of his head and he understood things clearly again. Barring that, the next best thing would have to do.

It was the work of a moment to return to Hell and seek out the best demons for the job: Trishna, the most beautiful; Raga, the most cunning; and Arati, the most ambitious. He returned with them to Earth.

The sage had not moved from his place under the tree. He sat peacefully, his hands folded in his lap, as if awaiting Lucifer’s return. The moon glowed through the trees from its place high in the sky.

“I am most curious,” Lucifer explained to his demons. “Does he have desires or not? He has already shown he is not afraid, but temptation is a much better — well, temptation.” He then set them upon Siddhartha.

“He’s handsome,” purred Trishna, running her fingers down the side of Siddhartha’s face. “Would you like to play, Gautama?”

But still, Siddhartha was not swayed. He was unaffected by their flesh, their voices, their movements. He merely smiled.

“I do not desire these women,” he told Lucifer. “My mind is free.”

“You mind is boring, is what it is,” Lucifer said in disgust. “Ladies, I do apologize for providing you with insufficient entertainment. And you, Prince Siddhartha,” he continued, “mark my words. One day you will tire of living in the forest as a boring monk spouting ridiculous nonsense about truth and desire and suffering. You’ll go back to your palace and take up your throne again. It would be best for everyone if you got on that sooner rather than later.”

Raga twined around Lucifer, disappointed. “He’s not any fun,” she pouted. “He just sits there. He’s not interested in us. He’s not even getting angry.”

“He’s an ignorant fool, is what he is,” Lucifer said. “How could he not see your beauty?” He turned back to Siddhartha. “You’re delusional. You will see for yourself, eventually, come the time of your death — and as you know, you will die. I suggest you get up and abandon this foolish quest immediately.”

“You have no power over me,” said Siddhartha. “I have vowed to remain here under this tree until I attain full awakening, so I will remain here until I do.”

“I don’t believe there is nothing you desire,” Lucifer said. He had never met a single human who didn’t possess desire, and he refused to believe that a monk sitting under a tree was going to disprove that theory. “No matter how much you protest otherwise. And as the Lord of Desire, I would be pleased to grant you something. A simple favour, you see. There must be something.”

“You do not give freely, generously, without conditions,” said Siddhartha. “You are wicked, to give only if you get something in return. I have performed trillions of selfless acts of giving. I have given my house, my bed, my clothes, my food, my wealth, even my very body — all with the intention to liberate beings from suffering.”

Lucifer snorted. His demons laughed. “And we’re all supposed to just take your word for it, are we? That’s convenient, that you don’t have any witnesses.”

Siddhartha reached out with one hand and tapped the ground. “The earth is my witness. She supports all life, and she is impartial to it.”

A single drop of water shuddered on the tip of a leaf before falling — and taking a very, very long time.

“Hello, Brother,” said Lucifer, not bothering to turn around. “How long has it been? Not long enough, I’m sure.”

He was pleased to see, as the very least, that Siddhartha was affected as well. Even though he had hardly moved before, he had slowed down to match the world around him now. Not so removed from the world after all, was Prince Siddhartha.

“Brother, what are you doing here?” said Amenadiel, stepping up beside him. “Why are you inflicting yourself on this man? Human souls are only yours to torture in Hell.”

“He’s not even any fun,” pouted Arati from where she had flopped down on the ground in a fit of ennui.

“And you’ve brought three demons to Earth,” said Amenadiel, glowering intently at them. “Your recklessness has not gone unnoticed in the Silver City. Leave immediately, before Father has cause to be any more furious with you than he already is.”

Lucifer raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine,” he said. “I was growing bored of Gautama anyway.” He unfurled his wings with a snap.

“With _all _of your little demons, Morningstar,” Amenadiel said.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Lucifer said, holding out his arm to Raga. “My dear?”

It took a few trips to bring his demons back to Hell, and then he was back on Earth, his wings tucked away. Amenadiel continued to glare at him.

“And now it is time for you to return as well,” he growled.

“Yes, of course, Brother,” Lucifer said. “Although you might consider staying here and continuing my conversation with Prince Siddhartha. I think you’ll find you have a similar disposition and the same sense of humour.”

“_Now_, Lucifer.”

“Can I not at least wrap up our conversation?” Lucifer complained. “Think how rude it would be for me to simply vanish in the middle of his sentence. You know, manners. They’re something you might like to try out some time.”

Amenadiel sighed, but allowed time to resume its usual pace.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t wish it, but I do so hope to see you again, Prince Siddhartha,” said Lucifer. “Next time we meet it may even be in my realms, where I’m sure I can show you the true meaning of suffering.”

Siddhartha smiled. “I doubt it,” he said serenely. “But perhaps we will meet in another realm, where we both are free from suffering.”

“Now that I very much doubt,” Lucifer replied. He unfurled his wings again and allowed Amenadiel to lead him down, down, down into the darkness once more.

On Earth, the light of the morning star broke over the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a Buddhist scholar by any means, and I present this fic? philosophical dialogue? Buddhism 101? with great respect to the Buddha and Dharma. I simply wanted to explore the idea of Lucifer as Mara and the intersection of Lucifer and Buddhism. I have taken many liberties with — but hopefully not misrepresented the core components of — Buddhist scriptures and philosophy, which I will attempt to outline here in brief for anyone who is unfamiliar with the Buddha or Buddhism in general.
> 
> Siddhartha Gautama was just a man; he was born a prince c.550 BCE, and grew up in great luxury. He eventually left his family and his kingdom to understand the suffering of birth, old age, sickness, and death. He meditated under the bodhi tree in modern-day Bodhgaya for forty-nine days before achieving enlightenment. ‘Buddha’ is his title, which means ‘awakened one’. I deliberately refer to him as ‘Siddhartha’ because this story takes place before his enlightenment (only present-day Chloe calls him the Buddha).
> 
> King Bimbisara was the ruler of a kingdom called Magadha, which was in modern-day India in what is now parts of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh. He was a great patron of the Buddha both before and after his enlightenment.
> 
> Mara is the Lord of Desire who rules the hell realms. We can interpret him as a literal demon or as the manifestation of Siddhartha’s doubts. On the eve of Siddhartha’s enlightenment, he shows up with an army of demons to generally harass him. First they throw weapons at him, but they all turn into flowers and rain harmlessly down on Siddhartha. Next they try to intimidate him with their ghoulish faces and scare him away from the tree, but he doesn’t move. Finally, Mara sends three of his daughters to tempt Siddhartha, but he refuses their advances. Mara berates Siddhartha for following this path and tries to do everything he can to convince him to abandon his quest for enlightenment. At last Siddhartha calls on the Earth to witness his previous lives and all of the virtuous deeds he has performed, and the Earth goddess shows up to humiliate Mara and confirm Siddhartha’s countless virtuous lives. Defeated, Mara returns to the hell realms with his army of demons and Siddhartha achieves enlightenment as the sun rises. I have attempted to portray all of these events here in some form. 
> 
> Lucifer states that he never sees Siddhartha again; in Buddhist scriptures, he shows up here and there to cast doubt upon the Buddha’s actions or generally cause trouble.
> 
> There are two main Buddhist philosophy points that are covered here. The first is the concept of the Wheel of Life/samsara: that all beings are born, die, and then are reborn into the different realms (gods, demi-gods, humans, animals, hungry ghost, and hell) according to their positive or negative karma. Achieving liberation/enlightenment/nirvana means that you escape this endless cycle of rebirth and live in a realm permanently free from suffering.
> 
> The second concept is the Four Noble Truths. They basically boil to down: there is suffering, there is a cause of suffering, there is freedom from suffering, and there is a path we can follow to end our suffering. Suffering is what keeps us being reborn again and again, so if we cease our suffering, we can escape this cycle. The three root causes of suffering, usually called the three poisons, are discussed in more detail: ignorance, anger, and desire/attachment.
> 
> I think that Buddhism as a philosophy is compatible with other religions, and it is particularly compatible with the flavour presented in Lucifer — although Lucifer himself clearly doesn’t agree with me. I’ll leave it to you to decide where you fall on the issue.
> 
> Thank you for reading my absurdly long author’s note and incredibly niche philosophical creation. I hope you enjoyed it!


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